First and foremost, a mother

Just don't ask Evelyn Sanders which are her "real" kids

Mother extraordinaire Evelyn Sanders, right, with Megan Sanders and a few of the grandchildren on the rocks at the edge of a field on their property in El Cajon. Peggy Peattie/UT San Diego
— Peggy Peattie

Mother extraordinaire Evelyn Sanders, right, with Megan Sanders and a few of the grandchildren on the rocks at the edge of a field on their property in El Cajon. Peggy Peattie/UT San Diego
— Peggy Peattie

She believes in motherhood, though, with a passion. Evelyn always wanted a house full of little ones — “Way back, I knew I wanted a lot of kids, and I thought I would adopt six and have six” — and her own early experiences with discrimination made her sensitive to overlooked or discarded kids.

Most of the foster kids sent to the Sanders home were young, troubled and white. “Don’t ask me why,” Evelyn said. “But they were the ones who were having the worst time.”

That was enough to stir her maternal instincts. “She’ll always fight for the underdog,” Ted said.

If Evelyn cheered for her children, she also challenged them. Everyone did homework; everyone completed chores. Everyone played sports, tackled a musical instrument, helped raise steers, pigs, sheep, chickens and horses on the family’s almost three-acre El Cajon spread.

Home was always welcoming, sometimes surprising. Returning from one errand, Evelyn discovered that the steeds had learned to twist open the doorknobs.

“I came home to find three horses in the house,” she said, “two in the living room, one in the hall.”

Usually, though, it was the children who were kept guessing. How would this mother handle her many charges during the long summers? (By erecting large tents in the yard and running an unofficial camp for her kids and their friends.) How would she discipline them? (By forcing them to write about their actions, and why they were wrong. “And then they would get a shovel and bury it — and that would be that.”) Why, one Easter, did she arrange a decorate their home with an entire grove of Christmas trees? (“I like Christmas!”)

But wasn’t it Easter?

“That’s what the kids say. They take all of the joy out of it.”

Life’s issues

The children sent here weren’t always angels. Some were biters; others were breakers, acting out their frustrations by shattering household objects. Evelyn and Ted responded with love, patience and the power of family, using the elder kids to ride herd on the younger ones.

Like the children, life wasn’t always predictable or happy. One of Evelyn’s babies died at birth; another was murdered at the age of 23.

“We’ve been coping with life’s issues,” Ted said, “all across the board.”

The children grew up, moved out, established careers and new families. “When your children get married,” Evelyn said, “you’ve got to come to grips with the fact that you are not the only family.”

But this family reunites at the El Cajon home every Easter, where Evelyn organizes two separate Easter egg hunts. The youngest grandchildren and great-grandchildren scour the grounds for dyed eggs and candy; the older grandkids redeem their eggs for movie tickets and fast-food coupons.

“I’m always coming up with different things to do,” Evelyn said, “always trying to make things interesting.”

When this holiday ends, everyone goes to their homes. Other homes.

“It’s almost an empty nest,” Ted said.

“It’s lonely now,” Evelyn said. “Very lonely.”

It’s just the two of them. Plus one adult son, who is deaf and still lives here. So does a school-aged grandson whose father is often on the road.

Felicia, who lives two miles away, regularly visits. As do her six children. And many more, across three generations.

“She is the driving force,” Ted said of this mother, “there is no doubt about that. But I’m codependent.”